My Name is Lucille, and I Know How You Feel
by Mourshkin
Summary: Another angel falls. Alone and completely clueless in this strange world, Lucille is full of questions. What is alcohol? Why do these fried potatoes taste so delicious? And who is the stranger in the sunglasses?


**Author's Note: Ok guys, this is a bit of an experiment for me - I was listening to the song Pavlov's Daughter by Regina Spektor and this little idea seemed to grow up out of the GO-verse...so let me know what you think...should I continue?**

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Lucille sat resting her chin in her palm, gazing out as the September rain tumbled and lost itself among the tall grey buildings. Slowly, she closed her eyes and sighed. It seemed like the right thing to do. That was the sort of thing people, humans, did when they were bored, right? Not that she hadn't been bored before. It could get pretty quiet _up there_. The peace and joy and eternal sunshine were all well and good, no mistake, but she could admit to herself now - Heaven could get plain dull. Maybe that was why she did it.

But now, in this bland flat staring out at the bland, wet sky, Lucille was starting to wonder if Earth was just as bad, just as empty and uneventful as even Heaven had been. Now, singing praises and greeting the newly-dead worthy and meek for eternity seemed like a job lot. 'Rebel' she'd thought. 'Rebel and join the other side - they sound like a Hell of a lot more fun.' Except they weren't. "Well you're sort of on your own, just obey the teaching of chaos and you should be fine." That was it, that and a key to this damp, mortgage-defaulted flat had been all the welcome Lucille had gotten to the Dark-side. So here she was, a second rate fallen Angel with nothing to do. Nothing at all.

So she just sat there. Sat there until the rain hissed into nothing and the clouds took the sickly tinge of evening. As she sat, Lucille's head nodded further and further forward, surely not in tiredness - Angels didn't get tired, but then again she supposed she wasn't an Angel any more. And then she felt a soft touch on her forehead as it met the glass of the window. This was new. It was smooth and slightly damp and ... cold. With a shuddered breath, Lucille realised that this was the first time in her existence that she'd felt it - there are no winters in Heaven. It was soothing, calming. It was good. Without thinking, she turned her head to rest the side of her cheek on the pane - breathing out as she did so. She breathed out the half-formed regrets and disappointments and let her shoulders fall into relaxation.

It wasn't until, some minutes later, when she met the bemused gaze of a man who was standing across the street looking up at her from two storeys below, that Lucille realised quite how absurd she must look. Th ex-Angel pulled back from the window sharply, slipping from the wooden chair and landed with a clatter on the stained linoleum. She lay in a tangle, cheek still tingling from the cool glass ... and began to laugh. She giggled and snorted and failed in complete abandon, laughing as she hadn't done since, well possibly ever. And when the fit, because that's what it felt like, passed Lucille pulled herself up and leant against the wall. She felt free, released from bonds of propriety and morality - bonds she hadn't even realised held her until they had fallen off. Down here, there were cold window panes. Down here, she could confuse unwitting passers-by. Down here on Earth she could... she could - Lucille's eyes burned with a mad fire - she could do anything! Impulsively, she grabbed the chair and hurled it across the room. It didn't shatter dramatically like she'd hoped but did at least clang satisfyingly against the rusting radiator. The noise brought the not-Angel back to Earth - OK, she admitted, that was a bit far but hey! She could go that far or further. She didn't have to, but she could.

Thinking that, Lucille righted the ill-treated chair, grabbed her key and head out into the frantic city night. She didn't lock her door, there wasn't anything worth stealing. In fact, at the head of the stairs, she turned back and opened the door to her flat. Just a crack. Just enough to be tempting...


End file.
